


Nights

by Whaler



Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25820431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whaler/pseuds/Whaler
Relationships: Sakai Jin/Taka
Kudos: 12





	Nights

While the blade  shines immaculate as the Sakai steel  deserves ,  the hilt b ears an awful , darkened mark. It’s b lood , already  drunken up by the cloth ;  in a pattern of  w ell recognizable palm and  fingerprints . An echo of a grip , a moment .  Or rather a lifestyle. Should be a butcher's grip maybe or one of  an  especially  hopeless origami student. Definitely not a  samurai's . 

He tried to  get the fleck out  but the  blood  stands gloating victorious . Now  Jin will have to  give up  and back down  or try  for  earnest . He doesn't fancy this latter, is quit sour about it  too,  to be honest.

He thinks it a waste of time and  he would get a week's load of chores for just thinking like this back at his uncle's estate, but, well, it  _ is _ a waste of time. So he frowns  a t the  mark because why not. He might as well.

The blade  reflects the lights of the fires, the dark roof and  some semblance of his figure sitting on his heels, calm from the outside. Calm from the inside too, actually, like death… Samurai  are sane,  all controlled emotion, honor and duty , mighty warriors ; Yuna called him  an avenging demon and those ; those  aren't supposed to rush into battle either , true, but  they  embrace emotions.  Emotions of  vengeance , impulsiveness  and amusement.

And  Jin is amused, in a way atop the other two ; also distressed . He stares down the katana like it offends h i m, which it does , even more so the memories of  said weapon being bashed  and bas h ed and bas h ed  against shield s with full force , thunders and screeching sounds t ill  the shields broke, a nd the sword ebb ed itself deep inside a  Mongol’s neck and chest.

The memory is not exactly disturbing  or unwelcomed but shameful as  weakness, cowardice or dishonor is shameful.

Jin rarely fought like this before the invasion . Like a barbarian. A maniac.  Stances and brute force.  A mix of the nobleman he was raised to be and a rabid animal. Then he stands there after battle, at the middle of  the ring of  bodies, pants  in the odor of blood and it feels so damn good. So damn  satisf ying .

Where is the  finesse —he  wonders—where is the honor and grace he  preaches? Where is the image of the samurai he  wants to show?

The hilt of the katana  was  never supposed to be bloody like this ,  by being grabbed after  stabbing a man from behind. Gutting a man, really,  he admits,  like an animal.  A b utcher. Fis t deep into entrails and… well. He could find other ways to describe it but he is less than adamant in trying.  It hadn’t been the first instance,  won’t be  the last either , but inconvenient things happened recently —like Yuna spreading high tales about him being a ghost and demon,  the healer telling him, he looks like  he enjoys  killing (the same healer he  wanted to fuck  so badly at the forest for incomprehensible  reasons ) , Ishikawa sensei telling him he won't train another monster.

And this time, in this fortress, during this… well, massacre ; his  uncle's words echoed through his mind, through his soul really, the lessons about the code, the  honor and bravery he was raised into.  Molded by them, rather ,  by  his family, his  uncle's family, his father's death. Like an ill - fitting  garb,  shed the second he  paid  less attention  to it than his  full mind.

The demon clawed his way out from under the  pretense of a man.

It amuses  Jin , how he is wrong now. Like, a wrong man. Like really, really wrong.

Still samurai. Well, not samurai per se ,  not  at this exact moment  at least.  There is not much samurai in a man attacking from behind or doing  things the way he does. He'd thrown a wind chime into the face of an attacker then  backed it up with a grenade , for crying out lout! Maybe he shouldn't have found it funny at least but oh,  he did.

Now the hilt of his sword is dirty and his soul is thorn.

H ammer  clings rhythmically on metal —or rather an orchestra of hammers  is playing from every possible direction. Komatsu  Forge ,  war in the making .  Taka  stands guard over the  work of his apprentices like the elders do over the youngsters.  Careful, supportive, all advice , kindness, optimism and example. Jin wouldn’t tell him a swordsmith and challenges any man to do so.

Maybe if he had arrived to his father's estate as a  painter, an artist, a musician, a healer that would make sense. But this, he doesn’t understand this. A man like Taka , with  that gentle smile, humble mind,  honest words worrying over armors, trying out swords at the backyard.  What would a man like Taka know about  good armor and balanced sword ? War, of all things…

In the same time,  Jin knows  very well  why he knows  what he does . He  has no ide, how, but knows why , because he knows a lot from  Yuna —too much really, he thinks sometimes.  He wishes often  that  Taka would know more, would've known more, enough to save him  as a child, as an adult ; and yes, his craft kept him alive long enough to be saved but he bears the marks of that long enough and  Jin wishes he wouldn't.

Jin whishes Taka could make a mythical weapon which would keep  him safe from everything , but Taka can't do that.  Or rather, Taka wouldn't do that. He is excellent smith  though ,  exceptional , brilliant , wonderful —and  the fact intrigues, saddens and bothers  Jin all in the same time. He remembers how the  smith smiled at him  the other  day and glares at his sword a little harder. Thinks about the healer at the  forest then dismisses the memory.

Jin's not just wrong and torn  but  lonely  as well. Most times.  There is just so much the foxes and birds can offer in company.

So he sits there again, on the floor of the main forge and watches the smiths work. He watches one of them is particular and that one does  check back at him  time to time. _ Sakai- _ _ sama _ …  Taka ha s such a gentle voice. He sp eaks little but listen s carefully . Jin wonder s often what the  other picks up from him , from all this war. What he thinks of  Jin being amused by the his  grotesque freedom and  being disgusted  by himself.

He wonders if Taka knows or understands more than he lets  on—understands more of  Jin and war and  ties of a friendship  which faded a long time ago . And Taka is easy, like  nothing ever is easy in  Jin’s life, nor in Taka's with his childhood and capture and , well…  Jin doesn't  think about that if he can help it.  There is pain that is too personal, this kind of pain, where  his own thoughts and imagination has no place to be. But as for now, here, free and kind of home, Taka is easy. Easy for  Jin , at least, easy to be with, to trust, to talk.

So  Jin visits most times  he comes  here  and he  comes here  often. To Komatsu. To talk to  Yuna but not just for that. Just  as it's raining outside  and he uses that a s an excuse  to linger near the warm forge and rhythmic clanking. But Jin is ill at easy  today despite  the calm atmosphere and  the feeling doesn't seem to pass.

He hears screams from the distance but knows from experience it's his imagination . Wind and animals.

The steel is spotless  on the ground before him but his  hands are stiff from the  dried blood and the hilt is bloodied.  He's killed many, many people today, no t  on the way of his uncle, Ishikawa  sensei  or his father , but on the way of a thief . A murderer . What bothers him is the lack of remorse and the  bitter taste of freedom.

Also the tremendous amount of dried blood on his hand. The thorn, bleeding wound on his soul.

The clinging stops and  Jin looks up. Taka talks low to the apprentices, inspects the  work  they made , holds up the pieces to the light and although  Jin haven't heard the name before meeting  Yuna ,  he is quick to give credit where credit is due. Taka is quite the master,  a n artist really , a nd  Jin loves to watch him work ; sitting at the further wall, deep  into the night when the only light  comes from the bright fires and it's warm, so  Taka takes off his coat  revealing the  bruises, scars and half-healed  wounds .  On nights like these  the swordsmith worries over special pieces, blades,  plates, mostly for her sister or  Jin . He runs his finger on the metal gently, carefully with all his attention on his work  and  Jin's mind wanders. On innocent things  like if he should walk over, sit next to the other, because  whoever  Jin is, Taka is innocent.

And  Jin so desperately needs that sometimes: innocence and  easiness . It had been too long. Too damn long.

The apprentices bow and leave one after the other till there  is just the two of them , and the silence  reminds Jin of  those  nights he spends here ; except it's not nighttime  yet , he is wrong and filthy and Taka  is not working, just  stands there  in the middle of  the room , in the light of the  forge  with the  voices of the village too far, and the cracking of the flames too quiet to  be called noise.

“It's early to call it a day,”  Jin remarks.

“ T hey made good job and good progress. S ome rest will keep  their spirit  up , but if you want them here, Sakai- sama …”

“No.” He doesn't remind the other of his late night workings  because he adores them but now there is only the two of them inside  and the unease in  Jin is joined by a new kind of tension. “You treat them well.”

“ I should be help, not a burden. ” Taka looks a teacher just as much as a sword s mith . He should write poems, far from  enemy lines,  Jin thinks half seriously because he is grateful for the work  the man does.  He  is grateful for Taka staying sane and kind  after many months of capture. The man knows  very well  what  bad treatment and suffering is like and he would never. Could never. Jin feels that, appreciates it too not for others but for Taka .

“You are. ”

Undertones . Half of their  conversation is subtext . The voice they use,  the wording, the glances and if Taka hadn't picked up on his  mood before, which  Jin doubts, he does now.  Jin is asking, for what ,  even he can't put into words .  He just knows he does, that he needs to not be alone. That he is amused and torn and wrong  and somewhat free  but some of that freedom had turned him into a butcher. His duty is pure but his actions are  poison—and he feels  complete for the first time in his life .

Taka looks him in the eye  the way he only does when there is just the two of them talking .  He never questions when  Jin doesn’t visit him coming to town, never looks for  the samurai when he doesn't turn up at night at the forge but  he waits for him  with warm sake . He listens to anything  Jin has to say and understands more than even  Jin does.  So different than  Yuna like they are not  even  the same blood.

This is not one of th eir nights , though, and  Jin is not well. He  should ’ve written haiku at some hidden place  to clear his mind  alone, instead he came here. He wonders if Taka knows that.

Taka pours water into a bowl , a towel and places  it all down  in front of Jin . He sits on his heels in mirror ,  reaches out  hesitantly  for  Jin's hand , eyes strictly on the bowl of warm water, like a servant. “Would you let me, Sakai  sama ?” Because Sakai  Jin is a noble samurai and Taka is an  orphan swordsmith. He pays the due respect —honestly , like so many men don't —and Jin is angry for it, really angry for the first time.

Or he  is afraid of what Taka  is about to do. The meaning behind the action .

He fists his hand and Taka bows, pulls his hand back . “I meant no offense.” 

“I know. And you did none. I— ”  The distress feels choking , the things he wants to say,  put it out all like trash, voice to rationalize, to not carry  it alone , tighten his throat. Jin needs a friend , n ot the ghost and not the samurai. Jin.  If this is  what  keeps Taka on his heels,  Jin is grateful. He is grateful  anyway for a variety of reasons.

Taka  keeps his gaze on the bowl , but he listens carefully when  Jin asks. “What do you think of me?”

“Me, Sakai  sama ?” Taka doesn't laugh  but he finds the question ridiculous. “What would I think of you? You saved  my life ,  brought back my sister, fight for the freedom of our people. What could I think of you?”

“ Y ou hear the rumors, repair my equipment. ”

Taka contemplates that for a long time, fidgets slightly, like he is looking for wo rds literally .  Jin imagines him sitting under the  crimson trees at his fathers estate with an instrument in hand. “I’ve repaired farming equipment before the  invasion , ” Taka says at last. “ I  have also sharpened weapons for  ronins and  mercenaries. ”

“With your skill?”

“Necessity  brought me to the  forge, Sakai  sama .  I’ve studied under great masters  but someone like me wo uld n’t be endorsed  into serving a family.” Jin has so many questions but wouldn't dare to interrupt.  “One day,” Taka  carries on watching the lights reflecting on the naked blade of the katana , “a sword arrived . A boy brought it, said  his father sent him. He'd heard of me  repairing  equipment for people not serving the clans. He said  it's a heirloom. But at that time, a rumor spread about  people  disappearing . So ldiers too… They all turned up dead and in pieces. ”

After the life he lived, Taka doesn't flinch anymore but  a heaviness creeps into his voice and movement. “ I know what  marks armor  leave on a sword. How a katana is  scratched after duel and how these  m arks differ  when the blow comes from an odd angle. Like from above. I know  how steel gets dull on other metal and how on bones.  I can tell  the fight from the weapon and I could tell whoever the sword belonged to, hunted and killed people from the shadows. One of the monsters  lurking the day and night. ”

“Did you repair it?”

“No. I sent  the sword and everything I knew to the clan  then we run.  Yuna and I.  Before the Mongols captured us I never  made equipment for enemies.”

“I have fought those weapons and they were awful.  The worst I've ever seen. ” Taka smiles at that, some small, kind  turn of the corner of his lips. 

Jin will never forget that night at  Amazo bay, getting inside, spying on the enemy, putting together from the  crumbles of  conversations what kind of man Taka was, rushing in to save  Yuna's brother when the sword was already raised against him.  An unarmed man shielding  himself with arms from a blow. Those dark eyes looking up at him from the ground telling about a life of hardship and pain. Filled with not really fear but an acceptance. A man facing death too many times.

Then when they were defending Komatsu and Taka asked where to hide and  Jin told him they will fight and Taka looked at him with those dark eyes, then just nodded. Subtext.  Jin heard that whole wordless conversation in his head. Taka will do what he can and be loyal to the end. He remembered the lines of the hard, calm determination on the swordsmith's face, remembered how aware he felt of the beating of his own hearth at that moment.

“Still, they are weapons , ” Taka says so low  Jin has to confirm on his reflection, ha talked. “I can't wash them down and how much my promise  would worth to you after what I did?  But for what it worth,  I  don't work for  monsters and there is nothing  I wouldn't do for you.”

“Because I saved you?”

“Because you are  a troubled man carrying the fate of a nation.  I repair your sword because a pure hearth wields it.”

Jin sits there, watches Taka's reflection in the water, feels the  warmth of the fire on his skin, the pull of the dried blood, smells the embers, the metal, the rain, hears the  town and the calm rain . He thinks on what's been said and he thinks even more on Taka.

“I should be more, ” he confesses. “ I tell myself  it ’s all worth it if my home will be safe again, and that is true. ” He swallows and wishes Taka would look up . H e  is  also grateful, he doesn’t.  “ But I like it. ”

“Killing them?” Taka doesn't  mock him  because he respects  Jin too much, bu t he kind of does it anyway and it amuses  Jin , like  Yuna amuses him, like this strange, wrong freedom amuses him. It feels like he has allies, ones his uncle would  disapprove of , ones he holds dear, ones who see his true colors.

He sits here at nights and watches Taka work. It would be strange in any other life but feels right now.

Jin shakes his head. “ Fighting  impulsive. On my way. Knowing  they will die and I will live because they won't see me coming.” He remembers the way he'd fought today. How he broke shields and  s words, cut down people, how the anticipation  surged through him hiding on the roof.  Jin wishes he shouldn't fight, that there would be no war. But now, that there is, he wants to fight like this. Like a madman, like a ghost, like a demon, because he  won't ever go to war again like on the beach.  He can't . Running into death  driven by  blind honor. He can't again.

“I like to live too much . ”

Taka's pause is long again but it's a different silence this time and  Jin knows  t he swordsmith understands. The honor, the duty, the price and the  will to survive, the freedom coming from being  bad and wrong. The freedom after the fail  contrasting the  scolding of the conscience. Both  Taka and  Jin knows very well how it feels to want to live.

Taka reaches out  for him again , palm upwards, calloused from work and fire.  “Would you let me, Sakai  sama ?” 

He would. He lays his hand into the other's warm palm. Taka's thumb lies on the pulse point of his wrist and  Jin's hearth  flutters like a bird in a cage .  Warm water pours over his hand in streams, a soft cloth rubs against his skin , every inch of his palm, every finger, every patch of skin. Carefully, with an other hand at the other side.

Jin watches  Taka work like he would work  metal. The thin  cloth  wash es away the dried blood and part of his remorse.

Taka can do this,  reach some deep part of  his  psyche , poke things, clear  thoughts and fe e lings, without words and with just undertones.  Clears the blood of his hand as he clears the blood from his mind.  Jin doesn't question why Taka can do this; just as he doesn't care  about leaving the way behind ,  only about the people he protects , even if his nagging conscience eats him alive. But the blood is cleared now  with a soft  cloth and strong but gentle touch and it's  not forgiveness from Taka to  Jin but from  Jin to himself. He would never question why Taka can do this.

“Look at me!” 

Taka does, with those  dark, calm eyes, white headband and beard.  Jin adores the beard and he desperately needs a friend.  But for now, he just breaths, trapped in those eyes, aware of every  rise and fall  of his chest.  He  has n o words to say  so he listens to Taka talk through his eyes.  He  has  a gaze reminding  Jin of the porch of his home where he used to sit  to watch the rain.

Jin wants to kiss him but then he doesn't . He  glances away and Taka turns back toward the now dirty water,  holds Jin's hands  for just a  heartbeat longer. Nothing inappropriate  as  nothing what  Taka does is inappropriate , but his gaze feels like home, his touch like a caress,  his attention like forgiveness and  Jin sweats, painfully aware who Taka is and  where they are.

“ Forgive me,  Sakai  sama ...“  Jin studies him.  A smile plasters on his face and Taka smiles in return, then chuckles and  an easiness swells in  Jin . The stress  swept from his bones for now giving place to  a different kind of happiness.

“Taka… ”  The other words get stuck  and  he hopes he is able to do what  the swordsmith can, talk miles with one word . The apprentices are coming back, their conversations sounds from  closer.

“ I have a blade I work on tonight , ” Taka says.

“I’ll be here.”

Then he is not there.


End file.
